THE NEW YORKER saId, "run along inside and start to o-et-" b Max stood up. "Don't you tell her what to do! " he shouted. Lennie stared at hIm in aston- ishment. "There's no other man go- ing to tell her what to do!" said Max. " y L 0" " d Oti see, ennIe r sai Alice. "You see what I was saying? " " M " d L " M ax, sal ennIe. ax, lIsten to me. You got no claims on Alice." Max reached for his voice and found it. "My wife, and he says-" "Listen to me, Max," said Lennie, softly. "She isn't your wife any more You know that, don't you And even when you're married to a woman, it's a two-way thing. It isn't belonging-" "I told him," said Alice. She turned away and spoke toward the window, in a low, tight voice. "I always said, 'I'm not a dog, to put on a leash and take for a walk and bark for a dog biscuit. I have to make up my own mind sometimes about something, what to have for breakfast-something.' " " A d ' n now you aren t even o d " O d L 0 " S1 marrIe, sal ennIe. le isn't even your wife. What happens between her and me is between her d " an me-not you. Alice looked at Lennie, and he looked at her. Max looked at the two of them, and then his glance went flicking away, dropping from their faces to Lennie's tie, to her hands, holding the wrapper around her, to Lennie's shoes, and off to the claw feet of the easy chair, like a boy hopping from rock to rock down the side of a hill. "It was always lock, stock, and barrel," said Alice to Lennie. "Not an hour, not a thought. . . I told him. I told him " They watched Max take up his hat, rub it with his sleeve, and put it on. He opened the door and went out T HE day was bright and clear. Max walked to the bus stop and stood on the curb. When the bus came up, he looked blIndly at the driver until the driver touched the switch and the door closed, with a sigh, and the bus pulled heavily away Several buses stopped for Max, but he let them al1 go on and finally he began to walk. Pretty soon, P'" 'Ø if' ... -.:.:;:-. ...... . '. - ....- '<<t'"" ,,) ;.... '-f \. , "\ " , -...... .... 25 ; ( , ',:," " ": I " ,., I ;:: lí .J ""'- - ... .,; -. , " ,I " , " .J" '". f - "0" ", """, '."1 " '\ r r .,' - . . . , t ,- /' ," .....', " < ; 4". ....... '--- , ,* - \J .øii ,.,.. , "';. ,A... " d ((W hat gets n1e is if they like light so much, why don't they come out in the daytime?" . he came to a bar, and he went in and sat down on a stool at the far end. It was dIm and cool, and there was a sweet, heavy smell of beer. He sat alone drinking rye and starIng at the bright rectangle of the door. From time to time, people came in, sat at the bar for a while, and went away. The bar- tender wiped the bar in semicircles with his towel, back and forth, like a wind- shield wiper. Whenever Max finished a drink, he pushed his glass and some money toward the bartender, and the bartender refilled the glass and rang up the money on the register. Some- times someone played a record on the juke box. Finally, when he pushed his glass forward, the bartender leaned toward him confidentially. "Don't you want to layoff?" he asked. Hurt, Max slid from his stool and found, to his surprise, that his legs were unsteady. They refused to do what he wanted them to do. On his way out, he stumbled and half fell against a man sitting at the bar. The man turned and seized him, holding him up, and as he felt himself supported by the man, he . began to cry. Tears filled his eyes, and sobs shook him, and he heard himself makIng a sound like a child crying, like himself as a boy. The man helped him to a table, and he sat at the table and cried. When the bartender brought him coffee, he pushed it away, and it spilled. "Like a dog," Max said, turning his wet face up to the bartender. "I ever treat her like a dog?" "You never did," the bartender said. "Never " "Couldn't love a woman more than I loved her. Couldn't treat a woman b " M ' 0 h 0 d etter. ax s VOIce caug t In a eep sob. "And now he can tell her what to do. My wife." He stood up, leaning heavily on the table, and started out to the street -",T 1LMA SHORE . He is very much interested in finding a writer to do the screen play of John Gunther's "Lead Kindly Light". . .-Lou- ella O. Parsons in the J ournal-Amerzcan Has he considered Vincent Sheean?